


Your Face is Hilarious

by lowertadfield



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Stupid Faces, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wine night at the bookshop, heart eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19316431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowertadfield/pseuds/lowertadfield
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are drunk in the back room of the bookshop, but instead of getting philosophical, they dissolve into fits of laughter. Crowley trying to convince Aziraphale of how funny his face looks. Complete silliness.





	Your Face is Hilarious

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in years and years but today I couldn't stop myself from writing this absolute crack. Characterisation out the window but who cares? Silly drunks! Can I get a wahoo?

Over the many years they’d been on Earth, Aziraphale and Crowley had often engaged in thoughtful, yet drunken, debate over a few too many glasses of wine. Although they were frequently the philosophical type of drunks, on rare occasions, glorious amounts of alcohol put them in the mood to hysterically laugh at just about anything.

“Do you know Aziraphale….. your face is hilarious.” Crowley was dramatically pacing about the back room of the bookshop holding a glass of wine in one hand like it was the skull of Yorick, and gesturing his other hand at Aziraphale. The angel was somehow lounging primly on the old sofa, resting his legs on the coffee table, and nursing his own glass.

“My face is not hilarious,” protested Aziraphale. “My face is my face.”

“Your face is hilarious.. look at it! Look! Hilarious!” He was choking the words out between laughs.

“I can’t look at it… I’m…. in it!” Aziraphale caught the laughs too, becoming vaguely aware of how little sense he was making.

“No.. just look!”

“My eyes are in my face, Crowley! I can’t look at my face!” He was rolling his eyes up as if trying to look back at himself.

“See! Look at that face you’re making right now!” and Crowley imitated, quickly discarding his sunglasses on the nearest shelf so Aziraphale could see him rolling his own eyes upwards.

Aziraphale used every ounce of strength to stop laughing and feign a serious expression. He managed it for about two seconds before his cheeks started tugging up the corners of his frown. “Really, dear boy, my face is just.. my face.”

“No.. your face, Angel, your face does the strangest things.” He said as he set his wine glass down on a stack of books.

“Stranger than the things you do with your tongue?” said Aziraphale, very unsuccessfully trying to twist his tongue upside down.

“Again, you prove my point!” he said, gesturing both his hands towards Aziraphale.

“You haven’t got any point this time. And really dear, you’re waving your arms about so much you look like you’re trying to guide in a plane.” Aziraphale was still laughing but shot a stabilising look at Crowley’s precariously balanced wine.

“I do, I do have a point! For a start, your……cheeks!”

“My cheeks? What about my cheeks?”

“Your cheeks are so….” he paused, wandering over to where Aziraphale was sitting and leaning over him to inspect them, “round” he said in a short sound, similar to the way a cat might have said the word.

Aziraphale, noticing this, repeated the word in an even more cat-like manner, just to mock him.

Crowley, who was not going to be out feline-ed, repeated the word again, and so they continued until it had devolved into them making various cat noises at each other between giggles. Crowley gave a cat-like hiss, and then a cough, and then a more snake-like hiss.

“Excussse me, I am a ssssnake.” he said, beaming a smile which showed off his unusually pointy eye-teeth. He slithered back to his wine glass and took another swig. The book it was sitting on was now fused to the base of the glass, thanks to Aziraphale’s efforts, and Crowley gave it an incredulous look when he brought it away from his mouth. He set it back down in the same place.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and brought his own glass to his lips.

“Anyway,” Crowley continued, “Your cheeks are …round.” He said the word deliberately deeper this time to avoid any feline interludes, and in a saccharine voice which warmly hit Aziraphale right in the chest.

“All cheeks are round, Crowley.” He managed to say in a levelled manner.

“Mine aren’t. Mine are sharp and pointy pointy pointy.” He tapped his cheekbones with the tips of his fingers three times as he said it. “But yours,” he walked over to Aziraphale again, “yours are …round” he said in that same, deep voice as he leant over and cupped his palms around Aziraphale’s cheeks. The angel's cheeks had gone rosy and warm a few moments earlier, but if Crowley had asked about it, Aziraphale would have blamed the wine and the fact that he was sitting a bit too close to the fireplace.

“Yes, round cheeks.. very funny” he tried to say sarcastically, but realised that the muffled sound of his voice was, in fact, very funny when it was escaping from between Crowley’s two hands pushing his cheeks together. They again devolved into laughter, with Crowley watching Aziraphale attempt to chuckle through his squashed up mouth.

Crowley loosened his hold on the angel’s face and slowly brought his gaze up to Aziraphale’s eyes. Their laughter died down into slight smiles as he studied the angel’s eyes intently for a few seconds.

“And your eyes!” He said a bit too loudly, startling Aziraphale. Crowley realised he’d made Aziraphale jump and let his hands slip away from the angel’s face, before retreating back to his book-glass. Aziraphale cleared his throat and averted his gaze by searching for the wine bottle.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” said Aziraphale, trying his very hardest to move the conversation right along and focus on getting the wine safely from the bottle into his glass.

“They’re always doing this ..squinty thing,” he said as he spun around on his heels like an awful disco dance move.

“What?” Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from saying, rather too shortly. Aziraphale was just a little bit vain about his eyes. Angels are, after all, known for their angel eyes.

“Mmhmm” Crowley said as he drained his glass and set it on the coffee table in front of Aziraphale, gesturing for a refill. “The squinty thing.” He started laughing again. “When you’re sitting over there reading one of your old tomes.” Crowley picked up a book from the coffee table and pretended to squint at it. “Excuse my language, but you’re an angel for God’s sake! Literally _for_ God’s sake! You can just correct your vision if all that reading has ruined it!”

Aziraphale finished pouring Crowley's wine and thought for a moment. He hadn’t noticed anything wrong with his vision, but it wasn’t impossible that thousands of years of literature had left a little bit of wear and tear on the old eyeballs. If there was anything for him to correct, that would be a matter for sober-Aziraphale.

“I do not squint,” he elected to say, instead of acknowledging any issue with his vision.

“Well not at me, you don’t.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you make a very specific expression at me.” He waltzed around the coffee table and dropped himself into the sofa next to Aziraphale, turning towards him. “Let’s see if I can do it.” Crowley spent a second trying to draw the silly smile off his face like an actor preparing to go on stage. He then pulled his face into an expression that Aziraphale had never, ever, seen before in his 6000 years of existence.

“My dear, I don’t believe I have ever been constipated,” said Aziraphale very seriously.

“What? This isn’t constipated! Look! Look again!” and he pulled the same strained face with one raised eyebrow, bulging eyes, a scrunched up nose and half a smile.

“I have not a single clue what you are referring to, dear boy, but do us both a favour and please stop. It’s unsettling.” He held his hands up in front of Crowley’s face, both trying to shield himself from this monstrosity and hide the smile that was creeping back into his own face.

“Unsettling?” He said in disbelief, “You do it all the time!” Crowley batted away Aziraphale’s hands and attempted the expression again.

Aziraphale turned his head and closed his eyes. “I’ve never made such a face in my life.”

“You have!”

“Well, what about your face?” Aziraphale opened his eyes but remained turned away.

“What about my face?!”

“You’re always making this expression.” Aziraphale suddenly turned back toward Crowley with an expression so soft and sweet that Crowley’s eyes risked being dazzled by his angelic light. And Aziraphale wasn’t the type of angel that usually had that effect on people.

Crowley’s mouth fell open in shock. “That’s the face! You’re doing it right now!” and Crowley imitated with his frightening rendition. “What is that face? What does it mean?”

“Stop it, Crowley!” He put his hands over Crowley’s eyes this time.

“Oi, I can’t see, I can’t see!” Crowley waved his arms about and almost took out their wine glasses.

Aziraphale willed the whole coffee table a few feet backwards to avoid any spills and shifted his legs so that they were resting over Crowley’s lap in one swift movement. The wine had made him a bit cheeky. “Good. May we never see you make that expression again.” He said it like a prayer.

Crowley brought his hands up to Aziraphale’s wrists and lightly tugged them downwards. Aziraphale let his hands be shifted but they came to rest at Crowley’s jaw. Aziraphale brushed his thumbs along Crowley’s jawline and received a warm smile in return.

“There, that’s it, you’re making the right expression now.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and Crowley felt his warm breath brush past his lips as he spoke.

“So are you, Angel.” he said, matching his tone.

“Oh, I do believe I know what the expression means then.” He gently pulled Crowley’s face closer.

“Oh, you do?” Crowley looked down at Aziraphale’s lips and then back up to his eyes.

“Yes.” He brought his own lips to Crowley’s and caught him in a kiss.

It felt divine. It was only a kiss but it felt like a release of 6000 years of tension. Crowley parted his lips further to deepen the kiss. He let his hands run from Aziraphale’s wrists to the back of his elbows, pulling himself even closer. They tasted the wine on each other’s lips and felt each other’s warmth through their clothes. Aziraphale’s heart was pounding deep in his chest but his mind couldn’t put together any coherent thoughts.

Aziraphale let out a small moan when he finally broke away and let his head tip backwards. He was panting lightly and waiting for his alcohol-soaked brain to catch up with what had just happened.

Crowley let his head fall to Aziraphale’s shoulder, and tugged Aziraphale’s arms around his waist. “Finally..” he breathed into Aziraphale.

“Finally?” whispered Aziraphale up to the ceiling. “How long have you been waiting for that, then?”

“Oh… just about 6000 years, give or take a few minutes.” Crowley started laughing into Aziraphale’s chest at how ridiculous that statement was.

 _Bastard._ Aziraphale thought. _He knew what he was doing the whole time._ He laughed and drew Crowley deeper into a hug.

They would bicker later about how much time they had lost, whether Crowley had planned his whole “your face is hilarious” performance that evening, and about how slow Aziraphale had been on the uptake (“It took you until the 1940s!??”), but right now all they wanted to do was laugh and snog and probably take it upstairs at some point.


End file.
